


Again

by missdibley



Series: The Red Nose Diaries [73]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Eventual Smut, Existing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Future children - Freeform, Groundhog Day, definitely dreaming, possible time travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-01-31 15:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12684561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: Tom and Carmen and Bob the dog are making a home for themselves and are doing quite well, thank you very much. So why can't Carmen sleep?





	1. Chapter 1

Phil: So, did you sleep OK without me? You tossed and turned, didn't you?  
Rita: You're incredible.  
Phil: Who told you?  
_Groundhog Day_

* * *

She had the house to herself. Tom and the puppy were out. On a walk, so he said, but they knew what he meant.

Carmen had tried to make light of it, sitting on the floor with the spaniel as Tom was getting himself ready to go.

“Okay, bub,” she cooed at the dog. “Ready for your pap walk?” She looked up in time to see Tom flinch. “Oh, come on…”

“It’s just…” Tom huffed impatiently. “It won’t take but a second. It will be fine.”

Carmen looked at the squirming bundle in her lap, all floppy ears and big dark eyes and a lolling pink tongue. “A _pup_ -arazzi walk for London’s most adorable puppy.” Hoisting him up, she held the dog so his paws rested on left right shoulder and he could look around the room as he wished. She had to duck when he began to slobber all over her ear. “Bob! No licking!” She doubled over in laughter. “Only Tom’s allowed to do that!”

This attempt at humor was successful — Tom leaned down, kissing the top of Carmen’s head while he took the little dog in his hands. “Be good,” he said sweetly.

“Was that for him?” Carmen frowned. “Or me?”

Tom winked. “Take a wild guess.” Laughing, he let himself and Bob out just as Carmen swatted at him. “Come on, chap. We’ve got errands to run.”

After the door closed behind them, Carmen took her time getting up from the floor. Sauntered to the dining room table where her laptop and a pile of papers waited for her. But she didn’t want to work. She didn’t want to take a nap or clean the kitchen or start a load of laundry, engage in any sort of activity that might serve to distract her from whatever it was that had her feeling a queasy.

The world may have been falling apart but life for Tom and Carmen was good. Tom had the number one movie at the box office, and Carmen had just been promoted at work. They were raising an impossibly adorable dog who, despite her entreaties, had not yet begun to chew up Tom’s grey suede boots so he would be forced to replace them with new shoes. They lived together. And they (Tom and Carmen, not Tom and the dog, or Carmen and the Dog) were engaged to be married.

Again.

It wasn’t the same relationship. Not quite the same love. They were both different, but not by much. Tested by what the events of the last 18 months had put them through. Not just tested, but proven. Arguably better.

But there Tom went, dog in tow, to show the world that everything was normal. He was fine. Carmen didn’t doubt this but she resented the display, and the perceived need for it. She understood but still disliked it immensely.

As she opened her laptop, launched a browser window, and checked the extension that replaced every instance of a certain pop singer’s name with clever nicknames like “The Human Pool Noodle” and “Voldemort” and “The Stick Figure with No Soul”, Carmen asked herself if there was a perhaps more mature way to go about her life.

When Tom returned he found Carmen at the table, headphones on as she watched something on her laptop. Was it a horror movie? More news about the dismal state of affairs of the world? How else to explain the look of terror on her face?

“Button, what are you…?” He came around the table, dog skipping around his feet, and stood behind her and froze.

“What are you watching?”

“I…” Carmen removed her headphones. “I decided to rip the band-aid off.”

Tom sighed but said nothing.

“I wanted to know… having avoided her, the songs all this time.”

“And what conclusion did you come to?” Tom asked.

Carmen got up, turning to face him so she could rest a hand lightly against his chest. “It’s… not good, Tom.”

“How do you mean?” His brow creased with concern.

“I’m no musician, certainly not a lyrics writer, but dude. I went to school. I studied literature, poetry. Critical thinking and the virtue of a liberal arts education.”

“Okay,” said Tom, still unsure.

“I’m not a rock critic, but I’m pretty sure that this.” Carmen flapped her hand at the computer. “This is really fucking bad, Tom.”

Tom started to chuckle. Closing his eyes, he gently took her hand lifted it to his lips so he could kiss her palm.

She smiled up at him fondly. “I mean, I almost wonder if you should be insulted that her creative output, as allegedly inspired by you, is so godawful.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, love.”

“But what do you feel, Tom?”

“I don’t think that I feel anything about it at all.”

“It can’t be your fault,” she muttered, almost to herself. “You’re a good muse. A great muse. She’s just a crap writer.”

“Well…”

“I bet Kylie Minogue could have come up with something worth…”

“Enough!” Tom hugged her tightly.

“But what about the walk, then?” Carmen bit her lip. “I mean, if you don’t feel…”

Tom smiled. “Luke likes a little insurance. Also.” He peered at the dog, who had planted himself on Carmen’s feet. “This dog is too cute not to have his photograph taken.”

The dog took the adulation in stride, and wriggled on the floor in contentment.

“Bob!” She leaned down to pick up the dog. “What do you think?” Setting him on the table (“Only for a second, baby, and then I promise I will clean it off before we start dinner.”), Carmen managed to get her headphones around the dog’s head.

Bob tried to eat the headphones at first, just as she restarted the video she had been watching when Tom came home. Carmen turned up the volume, and watched for the dog’s response.

Being a dog, Bob barked. Sharp, shrill barks that indicated not distress but certainly protest. He barked, and then he howled. Tom was beside himself with laughter, but had the presence of mind to get his phone out, make a video, and send it to Luke for a comment.

Luke’s reply, in the form of a text, arrived during dinner: _“You really are the most ridiculous creatures.”_

* * *

Carmen couldn’t sleep, and she wasn’t taking it particularly well. If she knew why she wasn’t able to sleep, it might make her feel better. She could come up with a solution.

Was her bedroom too warm? No. Perhaps the bed was too soft? No. Was the person sharing the bed with her disruptive in his own sleep? She looked over at Tom, sweet and safe in his own repose. Carmen shook her head.

Tom’s breaths were deep and clear. He didn’t so much as snore. Only when he had been drinking, and even then the snores were hardly snores at all. Rather they were plaintive snuffles that made Carmen’s heart leap just to hear them. Lying on his stomach, his face was pressed to the pillow he clutched in his arms. One long leg was bent while the other stretched across the bed towards the spot where she sat. The covers were pulled down enough that his bare back was left exposed. Boh, her beloved stuffed mouse, lay just so, against Tom’s side. Bob was curled up on Tom’s pillow, his own bed on the floor having long been abandoned for the warmth of his master’s side.

Carmen scowled, not in resentment towards him but with indignation at her inability to just go the fuck to sleep. Tom may have been the one travelling all over the place, but it was she who got stuck with the jet lag.

She got out of bed, pausing to make sure that neither man nor dog was stirred out of slumber. Then Carmen did what she always did when mired in a state of uncertainty and restlessness: she headed to the kitchen for a snack.

Once the kettle was on, Carmen foraged for tea. Something weak that might relieve her sleeplessness. Something from the box decorated with a cartoon bear wearing a nightcap. And a biscuit, of course. Once the tea was made, the water still had to cool to be drinkable. She looked at her hands, placed flat in front of her on the counter, and waited.

 _Two for two_ , Carmen thought to herself, staring at the diamond ring that winked from her left hand. It was the same one from before, from the first time. Not an heirloom from either of their families, but vintage. An oval diamond on a gold band so dark in hue that in some lights it appeared almost green. It complemented the other ring Tom gave her, the emerald-cut aquamarine that she wore on her right hand. Looking at her hands together, she cursed whoever it was in her family tree that was responsible for her small hands and short fingers. Then she loved Tom a little more for finding two rings that actually looked good on her, rings she loved and cherished.

Simple. Almost plain. Carmen decided to herself that his rings must be so. Almost invisible, a natural addition to his sparse wardrobe that would announce that something had changed. A public declaration on a private matter, and this made her feel…

“Daddy!”

One word, said in a clear voice, interrupted Carmen’s reverie. “Tom?” she asked the empty room.

“Daddeeeeeeee!” The voice again, followed by giggling. It didn’t sound like him. The voice was piping, child-like.

“Hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee!”

No. Not child-like. The voice of an actual child.

Carmen knew better than to think the house was haunted, but something inside her tightened. The alarm system hadn’t gone off. Windows and doors had been shut when they turned in just past midnight, and had remained closed ever since. It was just her in the kitchen, and Tom in the bedroom. Unless he had silently crept downstairs and disguised his voice? Switching off the kettle, she grabbed a wooden spoon and crossed herself with it before entering the lounge.

It was dark, and empty. The quiet was unnerving, just as it was broken again.

This time the laughter came from upstairs. Giggling, then loud whispers but the words eluded her. Carmen followed the noise, which grew louder the closer she got to the top. The door to the master bedroom was closed, just as she had left it. But the door to the guest bedroom was ajar, permitting the release of a blue light into the hallway. Taking a deep breath, she relaxed her grip on the wooden spoon and entered.

Two small children were sprawled on a faded Persian rug that covered the floor of what appeared to be a nursery. Around them were pillows and blankets, open books and much loved stuffed animals. Two toddler beds, perpendicular to each other, occupied the far corner of the room. At the foot of each sat a small wooden trunk, painted with monograms: “WLH” on the left and “ICH” on the right.

Carmen daren’t speak, and scarcely breathed. What was this? A vision of the future — her future, _their_ future —  or just a dream? Whatever it was, she felt that if she took a deep breath it would disappear. And she didn’t want it to go. Not just yet.

She dared herself to go to the beds, remove the duvets and arrange them over the sleeping little ones. The boy, his head propped up by a plush grey cushion, looked to be about four. The girl could have been anywhere between two and three years of age. Lying on her side, facing towards the boy, she hugged a small pink elephant to her round tummy.

Carmen heard a soft, low “woof” behind her. She turned to find Bob looking at her, head tilted to the side. The dog padded forward and sat at her feet, panting expectantly. It was then that she noticed that Bob was still small, but not tiny. He wasn’t a puppy, not anymore, but his eyes were still bright. His fur dark and soft, absent the wisps of white around the eyes and nose that usually indicated old age.

Bob nosed around the children, sniffing at them in an apparent check to ensure that they slept soundly. When he flicked his tongue at the soles of their feet, licking their bare toes, she shook her head. “Weirdo,” she said, before turning to leave.

Out in the hallway, Bob leapt at her feet. She arched an eyebrow as she gazed down at him.

“What?” Carmen asked, playing dumb.

The dog sounded his displeasure: _“Woof.”_

“You are _so_ spoiled.” But Carmen picked him up anyway, a gesture which was rewarded with the dog kissing her. She sputtered. “I know Papa likes to carry you around whenever you go out, but it’s called a walk for a reason.”

They were silent as they entered the master bedroom. Same furniture, same bedding and same stuffed mouse. But Tom? No longer lying on his stomach but on his side, right arm pitched forward so his hand rested in the empty space which Carmen knew was hers.

Carmen crawled into bed, hovering over Tom as she tried to make his face out in the dark. Same freckles and cheekbones. His stubble looked blonder, almost white, in the dim light. A few more laugh lines, and a little less hair. The vee shape in his hair line, just behind the left temple, was sharper and deeper. It was precious to her, so she leaned in and kissed it. When she did, Tom stirred.

“Button?” His eyes fluttered open.

“Hi, love,” she whispered.

“Everything…” Tom yawned. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“What time…”

“It’s just a little past three.”

“Did you try some tea? Warm milk?” Tom adjusted himself, moving to lie on his back so she could lie next to him. When she felt him take her hand, she looked down to find their fingers intertwined.

“No.”

“Would you like a story, then?” Tom turned to her. “I could get one of the children’s…”

 _Oh_ , she thought. _Yes_. Carmen perked up. “The children?”

“Yes, you remember them?” Tom joked. “The demons living in the room just across the hall.”

“Right,” said Carmen carefully.

“It only took three stories apiece to get them to settle down tonight.”

“What did you read them?”

Tom took a deep breath. “I alternated. Billy…”

“Billy,” murmured Carmen to herself.

“ _Just So Stories_ , again.”

“Of course.”

“And our dear mademoiselle demanded original stories. So I had to make hers up.”

“What did you come up with?”

Tom cuddled Carmen. “Just the usual. The continuing adventures of one Princess Iris Carmen, exploring the world with her trusty hound Bob. And her dim-witted brother, Prince William Logan.”

“Iris Carmen,” breathed. Carmen. “William Logan.”

“Yes,” said Tom. “Aren’t you glad we didn’t name them what I wanted to name them?”

“What…” Carmen felt herself getting drowsy. “Baby, what did you want to name them?”

“Hmm?” Tom groaned.

“Remind me.”

Carmen got no reply. Just a faint snore. Lifting her forearm, she raised their clasped hands into view so she could see. Her small right hand contained within his large left hand, which bore, on the ring finger, a plain silvery band that glinted in the moonlight.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Tom's turn to wake up in the middle of the night, just in time to get a look at an imagined (and possibly hoped for) future.

**Phil:** _[talking to a sleeping Rita]_ I think you're the kindest, sweetest, prettiest person I've ever met in my life. I've never seen anyone that's nicer to people than you are. The first time I saw you... something happened to me. I never told you but... I knew that I wanted to hold you as hard as I could. I don't deserve someone like you. But if I ever could, I swear I would love you for the rest of my life.

 **Rita:** Did you say something?

 **Phil:** Good night.

_Groundhog Day_

* * *

It wasn’t such a bad walk after all.

The puppy squirmed adorably in his master’s arms, and Tom kept what he thought was a resolute look on his face. Straight ahead. Not at the photographer but past him. Through him, in fact.

The “pup walk”, as Carmen called it (for she never could resist an opportunity to make puns), was short. A few errands and then they were home, the dog was scrambling past the gate, scratching at the front door while Tom looked for his key, then sliding across the hardwood floors to pounce on Carmen’s bare feet. He behaved himself for a while when she placed her headphones around his head, but before long he was barking and howling. He couldn’t help it. The sounds hurt his ears, and it was so much better when he was rescued from this torment, finding succor and solace in Carmen’s lap with a bone-shaped dog biscuit for his trouble.

Bobby liked living in this little house with its cozy garden. His current hobbies were napping and waiting at the dinner table for scraps — a stray bit of bacon, a plop of homemade chili being his current favorite morsels. He felt instantly at home.

His official bed was a large cushion that sat at the foot of Tom and Carmen’s bed. He’d usually abandon it right after they had both fallen asleep, hopping onto theirs (being little, it took him a few tries to make that leap but he always managed), and finding a spot. The nook formed in the space between Tom’s shoulder and head was a favorite, as was alongside Carmen’s belly when she lay on her side.

The night of the pup walk, Bobby found Tom awake long after Carmen had fallen asleep. He was tentative in his movements, flopping out of his bed before creeping along the floor. Bobby paused, waiting for the inevitable lift from the mattress. Two large hands that would grasp him around the tummy before returning the dog to his own spot. This was what usually happened when Tom became aware of the Bobby’s nighttime maneuvers.

This time, though, Tom didn’t object. He hardly seemed to notice, and did not object when Bobby made a place for himself. Lying on his side, head propped up with one fist, Tom reached out with the other hand and began to trace Carmen’s facial features. His touch was light, fingertips whispering over the bridge of her nose, the apples of her cheeks. He permitted himself one kiss, pressing his mouth to her parted lips, and then lay back.

He thought about the walk, and coming home to find Carmen listening to that music. It pained him just a little to think about it, something so public that would seem to intrude upon their private life together. But they were able to laugh about it, even taking pictures of the dog wearing her headphones. Sending the pictures to Luke, then going into the kitchen to sort out supper. Arguing over takeout menus followed by energetic snogging — first against the kitchen counter, then on the couch — in that magical hour between ordering the food and its arrival. An evening walk, Carmen’s arm tucked through his arm and the dog tucked into his sweatshirt. Tom took to bed early, idly looking over a few scripts messengered over by his agent.

Was this life routine, regular and ordered?

Yes, it was.

Was this life boring?

Sure, he and Carmen had been living together, and quite agreeably at that, for some time. Eight months this round, and eight months the first time. Carmen called the break in between “THexit”. Which tweaked Tom, as it was intended to, but it helped to make it history. Relegate it to the past, where it would stay, getting smaller and smaller as they moved on to their hopeful future.

If the return of an engagement ring to her finger wasn’t a step forward, a step in the right direction, then Tom didn’t know what would be. And though it was an indicator of what would seem to be the next milestone in their relationship, were they ready for it? What about what might come after?

The little dog whined in his ear, bringing Tom out of his thoughts. He looked at Bobby, who blinked at him in the dark.

“Some water,” murmured Tom. “And then back to sleep.” He didn’t kick Bobby out of the bed yet. The glass of water he kept at his bedside was empty, so he went into the bathroom to refill it from the sink.

The dog followed him back to bed, sitting at Tom’s feet while he took a few sips. But before he could tuck the dog in, and then himself, he thought he heard a sound. It was bright and sweet, a high-pitched giggle from somewhere else in the house.

“Did you hear that?” Tom strained to listen, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed while below the dog pitched his ears forward. When Bobby scrambled for the door, Tom was quick to follow.

In the hallway, Tom found his dog scratching at the guest room door. His mouth quirked to the side. “Bobby, is there something in there?” He considered. “Probably just the wind. I bet Carmen left the window open again. Let’s see.”

Tom opened the door, discovering not the guest room as he knew it but a nursery. A nightlight was the only source of light in the room, but he still managed to make out the shape of a rocking chair, low bookshelves, and a table set for tea in the middle. On the far wall, a toddler bed in which slept a little boy. Next to that, a cot occupied by a tiny girl in pink footie pajamas who smiled up at Tom when he took a few tentative steps in.

“Daddy!” She chirped, gripping the rail of the cot to pull herself up. When Tom crossed the room, she reached for him. He held her, arms crossed under her bottom as she snuggled into his chest. Tom could only stand there, marveling at this child who was Carmen in miniature. Unruly black hair, dark brown eyes that sparkled in delight, and a button nose, though hers did not have the smattering of freckles. When she smiled, the merest hint of a dimple appeared in her left cheek.

“Hiiiiiiiiiii,” she sang.

Tom nodded. “Hello, madame.” He had to steady himself when she clapped a hand on either side of his face, petting his cheeks. She nodded, and his lips made contact with the top of her head. He followed her gaze when she turned to look down at the sleeping boy.

“Bibi?” She pointed. “Bibi teep.”

“Yes,” whispered Tom. “He’s sleeping, love.”

“Bibi ache up?” The girl smiled. “Ache up now?”

Tom shook his head. “We should let him sleep.”

She pouted. “Bibi ache.”

“You should be sleeping,” he chided her, gently.

“No,” she replied, her little brow furrowing. “No teep.”

Tom knelt at the side of the toddler bed. The boy looked peaceful, with long lashes and hair that was a little less curly and not as dark as his sister’s. He was skinny and long-limbed, with one sock-covered foot escaping from underneath the blanket. When Tom brushed a hand over his brow, the boy turned his pillow but did not wake up.

He looked at the girl’s face again, and she repeated “No teep.” with a scowl. Clearly this was Carmen’s child. Tom laughed softly to himself, and kissed her cheek.

When he left the nursery, she waved to her sleeping brother and chirped “Bye Bibi!” as Tom closed the door behind him.

Bobby, who had been napping in the hallway, perked up and followed when Tom made his way down to the kitchen. It would have been easier to make a bottle with two hands — get the milk from the refrigerator, pour it in the bottle, then heat the lot in the microwave — but he didn’t want to let her go. In return, she chattered happily, describing what he did with happy little burble and squeaks that sounded very close to proper words.

Tom was about to return to the nursery to rock her to sleep when Carmen, bleary-eyed and hair askew, wearing one of his old t-shirts and a pair of his boxers, met them in the hallway.

“What am I going to do with you?” She looked at the girl. “You ought to be in bed.”

The child removed the bottle from her mouth, lips pursed in a pout. “No bed.”

“Oh Buttercup…” Carmen sighed, not noticing the smile on Tom’s lips.

“Buttercup?” Tom kissed the baby on the forehead. _Of course,_ he thought to himself.

“Butter up,” the girl replied. “Bibi teep.”

“Buttercup sleep,” said Carmen, firmly.

Buttercup stuck the bottle back in her mouth, snuggled into Tom’s shoulder, and closed her eyes. Tom couldn’t resist smirking at Carmen.

“I think that settles it, Button,” he murmured, kissing her on the forehead.

Once Tom got himself and everybody into bed, he found that he was unable to sleep. How could he when there was a sweet faced boy asleep in the nursery, a puppy curled up at his feet, and Carmen at his side, holding their little girl? _Buttercup_ , he thought. _Button and Bobby and Bibi and Buttercup._

Tom turned on his side to look at Carmen, and at the sleepy child in her arms. Buttercup, having finished her bottle, clung now to a small pink elephant. They both yawned, Buttercup’s eyes fluttering shut while Carmen’s remained open.

Tom and Carmen looked at each other in the dark, and they listened. To the dog that snored at the foot of the bed, to the little girl who hummed and huffed herself back to sleep. Outside they could hear the wind come up, how it ruffled the leaves of the trees in the garden below. They drew closer, Carmen slowly so not to rouse the child

“What?” Carmen asked.

“I just…” Tom reached out and touched the tip of her nose. “You’re so alike.”

“Well, maybe if you’re lucky, she’ll grow out of it,” drawled Carmen. She wrinkled her nose. “Or maybe I will?”

“Don’t be silly,” said Tom, fondly. “You’re perfect.”

Carmen smiled. “What’s all this?”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re awfully lovey-dovey tonight,” Carmen explained.

“Am I not usually?”

“Well, lately you’ve been tired. Both of us, actually, just sort of crawling into bed at night after we eat for supper whatever the children didn’t drop on the floor.”

“Are you…?” Tom turned into her, into them more, gently resting his hand, over the covers, on the swell of her stomach. “Are you bored?”

Carmen shook her head. “Are you?”

“Never.” Tom kissed her shoulder, which was a challenge considering Buttercup was still wedged between them. “Carmen, I don’t see how any of this could have happened without you.”

“Any of this?” Carmen echoed. “Our little life in London,” she mused. “A happy hut in Hampstead. How tidy.” She yawned. “How expected.”

“I disagree,” said Tom. “You have never bored me. You are full of surprises.”

[“‘Your mind boggles my mind,’”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8926591) said Carmen. “That’s what you told me.”

“I did,” said Tom. “Because it did. And it still does.” He found her right hand, took it in his, and squeezed. “I think this is the idea of what our life looked like. You and me at first. Bobby, then the children.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Buttercup’s temple. “But I could not have imagined how I would feel.”

“So how do you feel?” Carmen blinked at him.

Tom looked at her. “Light, and warm. Lucky. Happy.”

“Is that all?” Carmen whispered.

“In love,” said Tom solemnly. “Profoundly, utterly. In love.”

[“And to think you didn’t even like me the first time we met,”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4467890) said Carmen playfully.

“That’s not true!” Tom protested, moving even closer to her. “You intrigued me. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“You couldn’t take my eyes off my tits,” retorted Carmen. “That sweater…”

“I owe that jumper my undying gratitude,” Tom joked. “We should have named our firstborn after it.”

“Cashmere Hiddleston?” Carmen bit back a laugh. “What kind of a name for that is a child?”

“Carmen, please.” Tom spoke in a hushed voice, almost reverently. He squeezed her hand again. “Thank you.” His eyes flickered a gaze at Buttercup, then back up at Carmen. “For these children, and this life.”

“You’re welcome, Tom.” With a little effort, Carmen raised her head off the pillow, and kissed Tom firmly on the lips. Breaking the kiss, she nuzzled his cheek and whispered. “Good night, love.”

Tom yawned, closed his eyes, and took another deep, cleansing breath. “Good night, Button.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after a night of interesting dreams. And a flashback because yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flashback wasn't going to happen until something I teased on Tumblr elicited a question from a beloved reader. Hope you enjoy.

“True learning only occurs when you love the subject you are studying and then the acquiring of knowledge is effortless because it is also a pleasure.”

William Boyd,  _ Any Human Heart _

* * *

Carmen was unusually quiet that morning. She didn’t usually remember her dreams, but the one from last night — little ones in the nursery, Tom in bed, wedding rings in the moonlight — lingered. A fog on the brain, a warm scent in her nose, and a sweet taste on the tongue. She wasn’t given to this kind of fantasy. Her romanticism didn’t tend to express itself that way, so she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was it the future, or just the subconscious consequence of eating dessert so close to bedtime?

So Carmen kept the dream to herself, kissing Tom and the dog absentmindedly as she walked out the door. She perked up when she got on the train, staying alert lest she miss her transfer and also because she loved to watch her fellow commuters. Peer at their faces, admire their outfits or taste in accessories. That day she looked at their hands.

It wasn’t cold enough yet for scarves and mittens, so she was able to ogle the fresh manicures, bandaged fingers, and knuckles made ruddy by the crisp autumn air. Watches, bracelets, and rings. Most of the wedding bands she saw worn by the men on her train looked heavy and solid, hammered platinum with not a stone in sight.

And of course she compared her engagement ring to other women’s. Was it bigger? Brighter? Prettier? Should she replace the greenish gold band with a trendier rose gold? If she did that, would Tom have to get something to match? Was there a family heirloom sitting in a vault somewhere, or would he have a new one made?

What did they decide on the first time? She didn’t remember.

When Carmen had a free moment later, a few hours after arriving at work only to go straight into a series of meetings, she closed the door to her office. Kicking off her heels and shrugging off her blazer, she hiked up her skirt so she could sit cross-legged in the corner next to a pile of accordion files. At the bottom of the pile was the file she was looking for. Carmen blew a fine layer of lint off the top, removed the band that secured it, and began to lay its contents out on the floor.

Printouts of pictures of dresses she had liked, dresses her mother had liked, dresses that Diana had liked. Brochures for stately mansions, eclectic art spaces, and urban warehouses hidden in plain sight all over London. A page ripped out of Time Out London, a write-up about a Filipino-British chef who was becoming famous for her underground pop-up dinners. Notes from a conversation with a special events planner at The Savoy.

The last item was the most poignant to Carmen. A faded copy of The Times from January 2016, opened to page 57 upon which was printed the following announcement, snug and very nearly buried in a column of others just like it:

> **T.W. HIDDLESTON AND MISS C.P. DIGREGORIO  
>  ** The engagement is announced between Thomas, son of Diana Hiddleston of Oxford and Dr. James Hiddleston of London, and Carmen, daughter of Pilar DiGregorio of Chicago, Illinois and the late Martín DiGregorio.

Stuck to the page, just below the listing, was a pale green sticky note: “31 December 2016”.

The date. Their date. Their  _ first _ date.

The notes and the printouts it wasn’t a lot, but it was something. It was as far as Carmen had gotten in her planning before the phenomenon she referred to as “THexit”. And as she sat, looking at this ephemera, she thought: “This is history. This is old. Time for something new.”

Everything but The Times went right into the recycling bin. The newspaper, still open to the announcement and still bearing the green sticky note, went back into the accordion file which was then set on her desk. Carmen was about to call Tom when instead he called her.

“What did I tell you about calling me on this line?” She drawled.

“Button, I don’t believe you’ve actually told me  _ anything _ about using this line in particular,” said Tom, crisply.

“You could have sent a text.”

“You weren’t answering your mobile, love.”

“I wasn’t?”

“Nope.” Tom popped the ‘p’ sound, which he knew annoyed her.

“I hate it when you do that.”

“I know,” Tom said. “Why weren’t you answering your mobile?”

“Excellent question, Cambridge.”

“Thank you.”

Carmen patted her hip, frowning when she didn’t feel the shape of her phone tucked into her pocket. “I don’t know where it is and…” She considered. “It must be set to silent.”

“Shall I just tell you why…” Tom began to ask.

“No!” interrupted Carmen. “Hold on, lemme put you on speaker while I look for it.”

Tom groaned from the speaker as she got up from her desk. “Button, it’s not a…”

“Got it!” Carmen, having found the phone in her briefcase, held it up triumphantly.

“I could just say to you what I texted.”

“Or I could just read along,” said Carmen, flopping back down in her chair.

“This all seems rather frivolous to me,” Tom pointed out.

“Oh fine.” Carmen set the cell phone down, then leaned forward onto her desk. “What’s up, Sporty.”

“Engagement party, Button.”

“No.”

“That’s what I told Mum.”

“Then what’s the problem.”

“She still wants to give us a party.”

“We already had one!”

“No we didn’t.”

“Yes we did!”

“You can’t mean the karaoke fiasco from New Year’s Eve two years ago!”

“You don’t?”

“We were drunk the whole night.”

“We weren’t  _ just _ drunk, we were celebrating our engagement, and the new year.” 

“But…”

“Call it festive.”

“What’s the difference between drink and festive, exactly?”

“We were drunk… WITH A PURPOSE.”

“You’re being ridiculous, Car,” Tom said sweetly.

Carmen perked up. “Does that mean I win?”

“Call it what you like, love, as long as we let Mum give us a little do. Just family, close friends.”

“We can do something at Christmas.” Carmen sat back up, reaching for a pen and pad of paper so she could doodle. “We’ll all be together, anyway. We’ll have a cake.”

“My dad won’t be there,” Tom pointed out. “Your mother won’t be there.”

“We can FaceTime them in,” said Carmen.

“Button…”

“Why is it so important?” This interjection of hers even took Carmen by surprise. “It wasn’t a big deal…”

“There was just so much going on,” Tom replied, clearing his throat. “The first time we were betrothed.”

“I always liked the word betrothed,” said Carmen.

“I know. That’s why I used it, Button.”

She smiled to herself. “Go on.”

“There was so much going on in those weeks. We have some time.”

“Do we?”

“I’m working on a few things, but stuff I can work on here. And there is Bobby’s training, of course.”

“Has he eaten your boots yet?” Carmen cackled.

“No, he has not eaten the grey suede boots,” growled Tom. “And he never will.”

“Pity,” yawned Carmen. “I’ve been leaving them right next to his dish.”

“Very funny.”

“That could be my engagement present,” Carmen mused. “Bobby eating those damn shoes once and for all.”

“Carmen, do you not want a party because…” Tom paused, just a little to collect himself. “Because you’re embarrassed?”

“What?!” Carmen sat up, alarmed. She picked up the receiver and pressed it, just a little too hard, to her ear. “No! Of course not!”

“It’s just,” Tom said quietly. “I thought it would be nice to celebrate properly now that I’ve got this second chance.  _ We _ get a second chance.”

“Ah.”

Carmen pictured Tom lying on the couch at home, staring at the ceiling while the dog napped between his sock-clad feet. There’d be a stack of dog-eared scripts and a few books just out of reach, and the laundry whirring away in the machine in the kitchen. And all at once she had an overwhelming desire to be home, to take her place in it.

“Measure twice, cut once,” she said, almost to herself.

“Sorry? What was that love?”

“Measure twice, cut once,” Carmen repeated. “Something my mom likes to say.”

“Ah.”

“Shall I explain?”

“No, Button. I got it.”

“You sure?” Carmen whispered.

“I am, love,” Tom said.

“Are we measured, Tom?”

Tom whispered: “Yes.”

“So I guess that means,” Carmen said, snickering. “That we’re ready to cut!”

Tom sighed. “Must everything become a joke about farting?”

“Yes, Tom,” Carmen replied. “Yes, because, much like our love, fart jokes are forever.”

“I thought diamonds were forever.”

“Yeah.” Carmen peeked at her own engagement ring. “Those, too.”

“So does that mean I can take back that ring and get you…”

“Tom, if you finish that thought then I take back what I said about having an engagement party.”

“And that would be…?”

“That yes, I would absolutely love for your mother to throw us an engagement party.”

“Thank you, love.”

“Thank  _ you _ , Tom.”

* * *

####  **Flashback: January 1, 2016**

It was lunch that kept Sarah Hiddleston in on New Year’s Eve, and got her up at dawn on New Year’s Day.

That and ever since marrying and having a child of her own, she found that most nights for her ended at 10:00 pm and what’s more that she preferred it. She had no reason to believe that her brother, who was still in the middle of a long shoot and only home for a few weeks, would do much more than ring in the new year and celebrate his engagement with a low key night out with his dearest friends.

But now it was almost noon, and her calls and texts had gone unanswered. When a few of his Cambridge pals stumbled in, they groggily and crankily confirmed that Tom and Carmen had been out with them the night before. There had been “an incident” and then all of a sudden Tom and Carmen were gone.

Anybody could have gone looking for them. But Sarah, who took her responsibility as his big sister seriously, delegated party hosting to duties to her husband and her sister while she retrieved Tom and Carmen.

When she arrived at her brother’s house, Sarah found the front door wide open, and a chill clung to the air inside even after she shut it behind her. On the floor there was a trail of coats and socks and a single pair of gold heels which led upstairs right up to the closed door of her brother’s bedroom. She and Tom were close, but it had been years since she’d had reason to burst into his room, let alone actually do it. She knocked, and heard nothing. She knocked again, and once more received no reply. Sarah let herself in.

Carmen and Tom were in bed, lying on top of the covers, still dressed in last night’s clothes, dead to the world. Tom’s right leg was bent so his foot was planted on the floor, while Carmen was sprawled across him at the chest. They snored in concert.

Sarah crept closer, stopping at the foot of the bed. She shook the mattress, pressing down upon it with her hand then releasing it. No response except for the soft trumpeting of released gas from one of them. Sarah fought the urge to laugh, then cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

Sarah jumped back, stumbling a little, and waited. Tom was slow, for he was almost languid as he yawned and stretched himself to something resembling consciousness. Carmen sat up suddenly, scrubbing her cheek with the palm of her left hand so the ring on her left ring finger twinkled in the morning light.

Carmen’s dark hair stood on end, a veritable nest of frizzy curls upon which sat a cardboard tiara that said “BABY NEW YEAR” in gold script. The matching sash was worn by Tom over his blue jumper and jeans. Carmen wore  [ a deep blue dress covered in a rich pattern of chartreuse birds and pink flowers ](https://www.modcloth.com/dw/image/v2/ABAT_PRD/on/demandware.static/-/Sites-modcloth-master/default/dw8f747ca8/images/10095930_NVYPR_ALT03.jpg?sw=913&sh=1304&sm=fit) , a party frock accessorized further with Tom’s beloved, worn-in, some would say grotty, grey suede ankle boots hanging loosely on her feet.

“The couple that gets drunk together, stays together,” smirked Sarah. “Isn’t that how the saying goes?”

“Shuddup,” muttered Tom. “What time is it?”

“Too early,” replied Carmen before flopping back onto the bed to lie next to him.

“Tom, you never could hold your drink.” Sarah shook her head. “Didn’t you learn your lesson at Cambridge?”

His response, though unintelligible, still managed to sound as if contained quite a few words of profanity.

“What a wonderful way to see in the new year,” Sarah chirped. “Newly engaged, and profoundly drunk.”

“Nuh uh,” Carmen insisted, shaking her head. “No drunk. Hungover.”

“Newly engaged, profoundly hungover, and, from what I heard, now banned from the Brazen Monkey?”

Tom pushed himself slowly up to a sitting position, then turned his head slowly to face his beloved. They pouted, then looked at Sarah across the room, Tom glaring and Carmen frowning.

“I can explain…” Tom declared while Carmen pouted: “Just the one in Leicester Square.”

It was at Sarah’s house that Tom and Carmen, freshly showered and changed into more modest attire (Tom’s grey boots back on his own feet), began the apology/explanation tour. There was no need, for Tom’s best mate had already regaled the modest crowd with the events of the previous evening. Which was something of a relief to Tom and Carmen, as they had absolutely no recollection of what had actually happened.

They were among the last of the karaoke party to arrive, giving a flimsy excuse about not being able to find their shoes (“But Tom only ever wears those grey boots!” Emma hooted from the kitchen to everyone’s great amusement) whilst doing a bad job of concealing the remains of love bites on their necks. After being settled in the group’s private booth with drinks and noisemakers, Tom and Carmen began to enjoy themselves.

They enjoyed themselves a lot.

“Is it safe to go up yet?”

Now Carmen was hiding in the basement, cringing whenever the laughter upstairs swelled. Sitting in the corner of a long squashy couch, she had Tom’s head in her lap as he lay across it. It was early evening and the children had been put to bed. The adults, save for Tom and Carmen, were indulging in fresh pitchers of sangria and bloody Marys. While the room was usually brightly lit by an overhead lamp, as they were still nursing headaches they flicked on instead a single dim table lamp beside.

“I’d say not, love.” Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re never going to live this down.”

“Patrick’s going to dine out on this for years,” Carmen realized.

“He won’t,” said Tom. “Which is why he’s upstairs regaling our loved ones with it now.”

“Well, it’s the least we can do… be good sports about it.” She gently rubbed Tom’s temples. “I mean, he did get manage to get us home last night, and discreetly at that.”

“Indeed,” said Tom. “Luke said there was nothing in the tabloids this morning.”

“Thank god for that.”

“Shame Patrick couldn’t reverse the ban, Button.”

“Well, we  _ did _ spray champagne all over the floor.”

“And the walls.”

“And the ceiling.” Carmen paused. “Was that before or after the shrimp?”

“During, Button. You were shoving them in the pocket of your dress. The champagne was a distraction.”

“How were we to know the distraction would short out the lighting system? Cause the disco ball to spin out of control?”

“Anyway, I thought it was rather nice.”

“And necessary. I needed to do that. For ‘Under The Sea’”.

“I was a good King Triton wasn’t I?”

“The best,” said Carmen soothingly.

Tom sat up, rolling his eyes when he heard Patrick imitating him upstairs as he broke into song. “Do I really sound like that when I sing?”

Carmen scooted over, draping her hands around his shoulders. “No. He’s just being a dick.”

“I think I do alright.” Tom sniffed.  _ “Just look at the world around you, right here on the ocean floor.” _

Carmen cooed in his ear: _ “Such wonderful things surround you. What more is you lookin' for?” _

Tom took her hand, and pressed a kiss to her palm.  _ “Under the sea…” _

Carmen kissed his cheek.  _ “Under the sea…” _

Tom turned to her, his eyes dark with desire:  _ “Darling, it’s better, down where it’s wetter…” _

The rest of the song got lost, swallowed into deep kisses and gulps of air. They devoured each other, falling to the floor in a heap while above them the party continued.

“Aren’t we going to…” Carmen lay beneath Tom, who straddled her at the waist. “Get caught?”

Tom merely grinned. “Isn’t that part of the fun?”

Before Carmen could reply he grabbed her sweatshirt and began to tug it up, exposing her soft bare stomach. He slipped his fingers to that sensitive area and began to tickle her.

“Dammit, Tom!” She squealed. “Geroff… argh!” Throwing her arms up, she grabbed him around the neck and pulled, narrowly avoiding knocking their heads together so they could kiss.

It was cool in the basement, and moving against each other as they did provided not just arousal but much needed body heat. The heat spread throughout their bodies, flushing the skin as their lips nipped and sucked, fingers pinching and caressing. Tom was enamored of Carmen’s breasts, licking and teasing them to stiffness through the sheer cups of her bra. When he had removed her sweatshirt, he was thoughtful enough to place it under her head as extra support on the soft carpeted floor.

While he licked and sucked, Tom tugged off her jeans and knickers. His own jeans were half off, pushed down enough to expose his bare ass and reveal that, once again, he was without underwear himself. When his cock, semi-hard and getting stiffer every second, brushed against her sex, Carmen sucked air through her teeth.

“Oh  _ fuck _ ,” she rasped to Tom when he moved up to kiss her.  _ “Yes.” _

He rolled over, falling onto his back so Carmen now sat astride him. The ache in him, the need to be inside her, made Tom impatient so he grabbed her hips to steady Carmen as she took him in hand and brushed the head of his cock and against of clit. She was about to sink down upon him, had already begun when there was a sharp knock on the door at the top of the basement stairs, followed by the creak of the door as it opened.

“Hello!” Patrick called down from the kitchen. “Are you down there?”

Tom was about to say or gasp something when Carmen clapped her hand over his mouth. She leaned in and hissed: “Don’t. You. Dare.”

“Tom? Carmen?”

Carmen’s kept her eyes on Tom, lips parted as she kept going down, inhaling sharply when she had taken him in completely.

“Anybody there?”

Tom bit the tender flesh of her hand when Carmen tightened around him, and began to roll her hips ever so slightly.

“Guess they’re in the garden,” came another person’s voice before the door slammed shut.

At that, Carmen quickened the roll of her hips. She kept her hand on Tom’s mouth, and her gaze locked on his face. He didn’t look away, not even as she began to move faster.

Tom took it in, intoxicated by the sight and the feel of her in control. Rocking herself, pausing after a few strokes to change her position or just to stop and admire him. It was during one of those pauses when he found her clit with his right hand, keeping his left firmly planted on her hip. She moaned, then whimpered as he stroked slowly upwards. And then in a circle, faster and faster, straining with the effort because he wanted to watch her come, hear her come, feel her come. But he was close to coming himself, and if he could just hold on…

Carmen released him, closing her eyes as he breathed through his mouth. He found his voice, forming slips of words —  _ Car, love, fuck, yes, god, please, yes yes yes _ . It was when he moaned “Car” again that her eyes opened again, she lifted her head, and looked at Tom who was on the verge of climax on the verge of release on the verge of surrender.

With face red and chest flushed, Tom was tense and hungry and delirious. Sweat made his brow damp, and his beautiful face was contorted. Agony. Delicious agony that could only be derived by the scent of her skin, the weight of her body and the slick slick heat of her cunt.

How could she. How dare she.

His head pounded and his heart raced and his stomach tightened and his cock pulsed even as he pumped up and in, hard into soft. It was two fingers of his stroking her clit, matching the quick movement of his own hips and then it was her turn. Her hands taking the one from her hip, her teeth biting into his skin as she shivered. She came. Not a word was said so all that energy that might have been released in cries of relief were instead sent back as waves through her body right into his.

Tom’s back stiffened and before he could punctuate his own release with a sound that would have been something between a shout of triumph and a sob of relief, he pulled his arms back into him. Carmen following that one she bit and so she fell, right into his arms and into a hard, sort of rough kiss that somehow seemed to roar in her ears. With open mouths they kissed and whined as they fell apart.

It felt like they had been lying together in the dark for a long time when Carmen, with some reluctance, pushed herself up. Before she could release him completely, Tom whispered: “Please.”

“What?” She tucked a lock of hair behind her left ear, and was about to cross her arms over her chest when he shook his head. “Baby?”

“I want to see you,” said Tom. “May I look at you?”

Carmen nodded, saying nothing but smiling shyly as Tom returned his hands to her hips then pushed, first off and then back so she reclined on the floor beside him. Behind her, draped just so on the couch, was a soft blanket. Tom reached over Carmen’s shoulder, dropping a kiss on it as he did so, and took it.

He started at her knees, brushing at what looked like a freckle on one before he pulled the blanket over it.

When he arrived at the apex of her legs, he nuzzled that spot, then further up, just above the mound. When he felt Carmen’s hand on the nape of his neck, Tom pressed his nose into her belly before pulling more of the blanket around her.

It was on her left side where a fan had taken shape, river-like stretchmarks that continued around to her back, down her hips. Tom traced a few of them with his tongue, making maps in his head before the blanket concealed them.

He pressed his cheek to her left breast, looking up at her face to find her eyes were wet with tears.

“Why are you crying, love?” Tom whispered.

“I might still be hungover,” said Carmen with a funny little laugh.

“I love you,” said Tom.

Carmen nodded. “I love you, too.”

The left side of Tom’s mouth tugged up in a crooked grin. “Good.” He shut his eyes, squeezing them when he felt Carmen’s hand on the nape of his neck again.

“My love,” he whispered. “My girl.”


End file.
